


Magic Fingers and a Devil's Tongue

by Baibaba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, POV Outsider, Priest Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baibaba/pseuds/Baibaba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't sing though. That might be Benny’s fault. But really, he thinks his mother would have been struck dumb by the sound of Dean’s voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Fingers and a Devil's Tongue

 

It was one of those days where the rain was pouring and the customers were trickling in and Dean was outside playing his guitar and waiting.

The place was a tiny little thing on the backroads of southern Louisiana and it was the main reason Benny had bought the restaurant. It was one little room with a stove and some tables. The walls were barely walls, wide open windows on every one of them to let the lazy wind in. It had a little front porch outside where Benny should have put a sign, but he always thought food should speak for itself. It’s not like he had the money or anything.

But the front porch was a magical little place. Rotten four-by-fours, mangled and chewed up by the weather and dirt. He had Dean try and clean the boards once. Just more dirt and crud. Benny decided then that it added character. Old southern charm.

It was a great excuse. One he used whenever he happened to be outside the southern borders.

What made that tiny porch a piece of beauty was in the mornings after he went to the market and when he was cleaning his shellfish and oysters. Dean would sit on the porch in one of the metal chairs with Benny’s guitar playing whatever it was that popped into his head.

It was Dean’s guitar. Really. Benny knew how to play one song and not very well. He only had it because he owned a few things and those few things he’d tried to keep a hold of. The guitar was something from his mother. He inherited most things from his mother. Mainly his penchant for making good food. He couldn’t tell which recipes were his own and which were his mother’s anymore.

She had carried him on her hip while she made dinner when he was just a child. She had the arms of man much bigger than her. Despite the strength she held, she was a gentle woman who could cook like Dean could play guitar.

Benny was certain you could fall in love with how Dean managed an acoustic.

Now, Dean was beautiful when he played. He was fluid and relaxed, more so than any other time Benny’s ever seen him. It was in these moments where Benny saw someone beyond the man who stumbled into his life and never left.

It’s every morning without fail. It could be blistering hot and Dean would go sit and sweat and play and wait. Before any hungry patrons happened by, Dean would sit, his feet cocked up on the old fence out front and he’d pluck whatever tune pops into his head. Benny never knows the song. He’d never been much into music. Always been cooking. Maybe whistling. There’s an old radio he found in the corner of the place, covered in webs, that sits on the counter. He turned it on for the customers. Never paid much mind to it.

Dean didn’t sing though. That might be Benny’s fault. He should have had some tact. His mother raised him to be a good boy, a proper southern boy with manners that would make any well bred queen blush with impropriety.

But really, he think s his mother would have been struck dumb by the sound of Dean’s voice.

Bless his heart though, that boy did try.

And Benny liked Dean very much. He was a good friend. He was skilled with a knife and could cut up dozens of vegetable in minutes without complaining once. He had the quickest hands and it made Benny feel guilty that such talent was wasted in the backroads of nowhere. Though he tried to tell Dean that he was a remarkable man, he would not listen.

Dean was indeed a stubborn ass. But he was good company. These days, positivity was what Benny tried to live by.

For the first time in a long while Benny was happy. He was cooking and he had customers that liked what he made. He even had a friend who had fingers that could make the world seem like a better place.

Benny had a short streak of being damn pleased with himself.

There’s was always a hitch though.

It was one of those slow days where Benny didn’t really need much he lp. The customers were few and far between with the rain. Dean had done all he could before he went and took his seat outside and strummed whatever tune he had on his mind. He was waiting for the priest. Father Castiel.

Benny’s not been much for religion himself. There was a time when he loved God more than anything. But that time had long gone. He had figured Dean to be like him. There’s no love for faith here.

But the look in Dean’s eyes whenever the priest came by said more than Benny thought Dean could articulate. Words were never a man’s best skill. Dean looked at the priest in ways Benny had been brought up to only ever look at women. He didn’t think less of Dean for it. Father Castiel didn’t seem to either.

His eyes were as drunk as Dean’s.

Father Castiel was handsome. More so than a priest should ever be. He wasn’t overly kind. Didn’t seem to like Benny all too much. His voice though, well, Benny could see the appeal there.

That was most likely why Dean liked Father Castiel.

His voice was damn seductive.

When Father Castiel finally did come, he was still wearing his collar. He was soaked and didn’t seem bothered. Like usual, Father Castiel only had eyes for Dean. Never ate any of Benny’s food. Had been lured by the sound of Dean’s music. Caught be his charm. Father Castiel wouldn’t be the first.

He would take his seat next to Dean and the two of them would sit together while Dean found a rhythm and Father Castiel thought of a song.

It was a routine. Never changed much. Benny tried not to think that Father Castiel would one day steal Dean away. That maybe he’d drop the collar, whisk Dean off his feet and carry him to some city where they can sing and make each other happy.

Benny didn’t think he could stop Dean from going. Not that he’d want to. That could be the problem. Despite how little his little place was, Benny couldn’t really imagine a da y without Dean plucking at his guitar and trying to sing.

He sang terribly, off note at very turn, but Benny appreciated the effort. Father Castiel always seemed to brighten on the rare occasion Dean would sing along.

Benny’s customers, though, did not.

For now it was good. Father Castiel had a nice voice. A low rumble that made him wish his mother was alive so she could hear him. The songs were old, Benny knew that much. Knew that Dean was quick with his fingers and played with the tone Father Castiel set. He had watched Dean one evening while wiping off the tables, make a mix tape with an old beat up cassette player. Telling Benny that “ _Cas needs to know the magic of old AC/DC_ ”. Benny could only assume it was a band.   

It had been immensely gratifying watching Dean stumble his way into actually giving the tape to Father Castiel.

Benny turned off the radio and listened to Father Castiel’s sultry baritone sing “ _And I'm going down, all the way down_ ” along with Dean’s slow and purposful strum of his guitar. The few customers he had hummed along and Benny almost wished he knew the song too.

The porch was dilapidated in every way imaginable, his little place was very little, the storm was just beginning to howl, but right then it was damn magical.

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel was singing "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC.


End file.
